


The Perfect Tree

by Ladytalon



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Holidays, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladytalon/pseuds/Ladytalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is going to get Merlyn into the Christmas Spirit if it kills them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Tree

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just steal one,” Merlyn gripes as they thread their way through the crowd. “We’ll end up with a chest cold or worse; just look at that child’s runny nose.”

Arthur laughs and tightens the grip he has on the archer’s hand just as his partner tries to pull away. “We’re not stealing it.”

“We’re villains, Arthur. It’s what we _do_.”

“Assassination is your bailiwick - stealing is what _I_ do,” he feels obliged to point out. “We are going to go in there and choose a tree just like everyone else, and that’s final.” The couple nearest them is watching, and Arthur stares back until they look away. “We’re not stealing our Christmas tree.”

Merlyn looks grumpier than ever. “If you start singing carols, I swear to God I’ll knife you in the kidneys.”

He hadn’t actually _thought_ of doing it, but now that it’s been forbidden… “What if I just hum a little bit?”

“No.”

“I hear this is where Oliver Queen bought his tree last year,” Arthur says conversationally.

“Stop.”

They step aside as a man staggers down the sidewalk towards them, dragging a tree while his two children ‘help’ by hanging onto the red and white netting. Merlyn tries unsuccessfully to free his hand once more, and this time Arthur angles his elbow over the other man’s arm to press it against his side. Reaching his other hand over so that he’s trapped Merlyn’s hand in both of his, Arthur jerks his chin towards the tree lot. “Which kind d’you think? Douglas Fir is always a good bet, or maybe Scotch Pine…”

“I _think_ we’d be better off inside, rather than sorting through dead trees in the freezing wind,” Merlyn snorts, but presses against Arthur’s side just the same. Just a little. “Still can’t believe you love Christmas as much as you do,” he says in oblique reference to Arthur’s childhood.

They step through the ‘gates’ made of rebar and yellow rope, passing beneath a fake retro sign emblazoned with a holiday greeting, and Arthur inhales the heavy scent of pine as they make their way over to a stand of 6’ trees. “We didn’t have much, but my mother always tried to make it special for me,” Arthur says, eyeing the first specimen – White Pine - critically. “Besides, I never got beaten up as much around the holidays.”

“These branches won’t hold much; look.” Merlyn bends one to show him, then snaps off a cluster of needles one-handed and tucks them in the buttonhole of Arthur’s coat. “Did they think they’d get on the Naughty list if they bashed your head in?”

Arthur relinquishes his partner’s hand and smiles down at the makeshift boutonniere. “No, there was just ice everywhere and I learned at an early age how to make a swift getaway by sliding on my ass.” Merlyn smiles back at him, and he’s strongly tempted to lean down for a kiss even though the archer doesn’t approve of PDA. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else right now,” Arthur says instead.

Merlyn’s eyes glitter with reflected light from the multicolored bulbs strung up overhead. “I’m not helping you carry it back.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Arthur declares loudly, making several people turn to look at them. “You can’t convince me that you’re not at least a _little_ excited about getting a tree. It’s such a great tradition…”

“Oh, yes. The great tradition of _sweeping up the fallen needles_ ,” Merlyn sniffs. “Please.”

“Setting it up, decorating it so it looks as tacky as possible,” Arthur continues as if the other man had never spoken. “It’s the best thing ever.”

“Mm-hm.”

Arthur gestures towards a family of five, spreading his hands dramatically. “Just picture it – all those presents under the tree they’re going home with tonight. There’s bound to be a wad of cash from an aunt somewhere amongst the loot, and if little Billy over there saves it all up? Why, then he could be your next customer!”

Merlyn gives him a shove. “You’re such an asshole.” 

“Careful now; someone might see us and think we’re having a lover’s quarrel,” Arthur grins, then points towards the far end of the lot. “Let’s go gay it up over by the Spruce section.”

“Fuck you,” Merlyn laughs, and they jostle each other like a pair of teenagers.

“C’mon, Bone Smoker. We don’t have all night.”

“Where did you get _that_ one from?”

“Ran into Mia last week at the 7Eleven,” he’s forced to admit. “She sends her love.”

“I’ll just bet she does.”

They spend the next hour sorting through the groups of trees and to Arthur’s surprise, Merlyn actually starts getting into it. Arguing over the merits of a Blue Spruce as opposed to a Frasier Fir for a full ten minutes, they finally compromise on a Douglas because not only does it smell the best, but they’ve found the only one in the entire lot that is perfectly symmetrical. Arthur unties it from the others and carries it over to the bored-looking teenager slouched beside the bailer but when he turns to ask Merlyn something, the other man is nowhere to be found.

Arthur sighs as he hands over a fifty to pay for the tree, disappointed that Merlyn’s pulled his disappearing act again – he’d thought they were having a good time. Threading his fingers through the netting after the tree’s been wrapped, he lifts it up to balance it on his shoulder and heads back to the entrance. “The lumberjack look suits you,” Merlyn says, and he turns his head to see the archer walking towards him carrying two Starbucks drinks.

“You didn’t kill anyone for those, did you?” Arthur asks, craning his neck to look for dead bodies.

“I don’t know why I put up with your sass,” Merlyn sighs. “And if you even think of saying that you know just why I do and that all I need to do is subtract the first letter from the word _sass_ …”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Arthur reassures him, and Merlyn hands over one of the cups as a reward for good behavior. Leaning their tree against a nearby car, he takes a cautious sip… realizing what he’s drinking, Arthur lowers it and looks at Merlyn.

“What?” he’s asked testily.

Trying to keep a straight face, Arthur fails miserably in less than ten seconds before his smile begins to curve the corners of his mouth. “Oh, nothing.”

Merlyn curls his fingers around his own cup, glaring up at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s just-”

“Just _what?_ ”

Arthur clears his throat and glances down at his drink. “It’s good, is what I meant. Thank you.”

“Maybe you should have said that instead of grinning like an idiot,” Merlyn says crisply, looking faintly embarrassed at his decision to buy something as cliché as hot chocolate. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

Looking down at him, Arthur’s smile changes subtly. “You,” he murmurs.

Merlyn’s mouth twitches unwillingly. “You too, you pain in the sass.” He lifts his cup to tap it against Arthur’s in a toast, and the two men’s fingers slide against each other’s. “Let’s get your stupid tree home so we can ruin someone’s night.”

“Your Christmas Spirit seems to be wearing thin,” Arthur notes, taking another drink before passing it back for Merlyn to carry while he lifts the tree once more.

“I was vaccinated against it last month,” Merlyn says as they walk back towards the nearby alleyway that they’ll be using to teleport in. “You’ve got enough for the both of us.”

Arthur looks over hopefully. “Does this mean I get to sing, after all?” 

“Don’t push your luck.”


End file.
